


A New Sensation

by helens78, Telesilla



Series: You Can Hit Harder Than That [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: BDSM, Beating, Kink, M/M, Masochism, Sadism, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-13
Updated: 2008-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney can't sleep and he knows what he needs; it's just a matter of getting John to give it to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Sensation

John rubs at his face with one hand and gropes for the wall with the other, dimming his lights. It's been a long three days, but now that the crisis with the power surges is over, he can finally get some sleep. _Everyone_ can get some sleep. Forget about him; Rodney's been up for all three of those days, unable or unwilling--probably both, knowing him--to let the people on his staff take care of Atlantis. When it's all over and Rodney's had a chance to rest, John's planning to check in on him, make sure he's OK.

"But for now, sleep," he mumbles, dropping onto his bed and getting his bootlaces undone. He yawns, eyes squeezing shut tight, and he's tempted to sleep in his clothes, he's that tired. But no--he gets everything but his boxers off and rolls into the covers, just about smothering himself with them as he lets out a satisfied groan.

Rodney checks his email for the fourth time in five minutes and opens the file on a paper he's been messing with for the last year. Along with the fact that every damn time he thinks he's got a little bit of time to do some theoretical work some damn crisis comes along, the inability to publish means that he hasn't really written anything of substance in ages. Fidgeting with the long dead personal shield, he types a few sentences before realizing that he's left the verb out of one and the subject out of another.

"C'mon...c'mon...just need to sleep," he mutters, accidentally dropping the shield, which slides across the floor. "Damn Carson anyway," he mutters as he drops to the floor near the bed. "He gave me the damn pills in the first place and now he won't give me anything to bring me down. Fucking witch doctor."

Although this most recent crisis was nothing like impending doom from three hiveships and the city with no shield, it feels the same; he's coming off the US military's best speed, and while his heart no longer feels like it's going to beat its way out of his chest, he's still wound tighter than a spring. "At least we had 100% fewer nuclear bombs and no suicide missions this time around," he says, groping around under the bed.

The shield's come to rest against a box under his bed and he goes still for a moment before pulling the box out. Taking a deep breath, he looks at the contents for a long time, half hoping that by sitting for a while, he'll get sleepy.

Ten minutes later, he's in the corridor outside Sheppard's quarters, one of his tool bags in hand. Taking a deep breath, he taps on the door.

The light thud outside John's door gets his attention far faster than it should. He doesn't feel like he's gotten much sleep at all, maybe half an hour, so whatever crisis this is had damned well better be urgent.

Still in nothing but his boxers and his dogtags, he stumbles to the door and gets it open. The fact that it's Rodney and not one of the marines makes him blink a few times, and then he backs away from the doorway. "You want to come in?" he asks.

"Not really, Colonel," Rodney says giving him a look. "I'd really rather stand out here in the hallway and have a conversation about amphetamines, insomnia and certain idiotic regulations." Nowhere near as confident as he sounds, he pushes past John and into the room. "Sorry if you were sleeping," he adds, his voice making it clear that he's not sorry at all.

The doors swish shut behind Rodney, and John scratches at his chest, yawning. "Sorry you're not," he says. And he means it, mostly. Except for the part where he thinks he knows what Rodney's here for--they don't get together like this every time there's a crisis, but it's pretty close. He reaches out for Rodney's arm and pulls him back, hoping to interrupt Rodney before he starts pacing. "What's--"

Which is when he notices the toolbag. "--that?" he finishes, eyebrows going up. "Are you planning to spend the night or what?"

It would be easy to just lean into John and let things go the way they usually do. Easy, and it wouldn't get the job done; he'd be left looking down at a snoring Sheppard while Rodney himself was still awake. Still, it's not easy to step away. This thing that they have--and he's just as comfortable with not talking about it or trying to define it as John is--might not withstand what Rodney's about to do.

"Listen to me," he says, quiet and low, the no-bullshit voice he only uses with his team and Radek. "Just listen to me because I'm going to say a lot of things here and then you're going to say yes or no and we'll go from there." In spite of his words, he pauses, wanting to give John an out.

"What--yes," John says, looking from Rodney to the bag again. He doesn't have a clue what's going on, but it doesn't matter, really. The look on Rodney's face is one John's seen enough times to understand it by now; he thinks John might actually say no.

_Yeah, like I've done that since we started fooling around._ "Whatever it is, yes." He's starting to wake up a little more now; whatever's in the bag, he's got a feeling this isn't going to be a typical night.

"Don't say that until you hear me out," Rodney says. He takes another deep breath, not sure if his pulse is pounding because of the speed or his nerves. Maybe it's both?

"Okay, the thing is, I'm kinky in a number of ways but it's not something I ever intended to pursue here because, hello, small population and I can only stand some of them as it is. And then there's the whole sleeping with your subordinates is bad, but having kinky sex with them is worse thing, and I'm sure you can see my dilemma." Rodney realizes he's going over some of the same things he'd gone over when he first got involved with John, but he thinks it bears repeating.

"So here's how this works. I like being hurt, and shut up, because it's different than, say, getting shot in the ass with an arrow. I'm also not into the whole being submissive thing because...control freak here, and not everyone fits that whole control freak by day/sex slave by night dynamic. So, as you can imagine, finding anyone to do this kind of thing with is a huge hassle." He looks right into John's eyes, wondering what John's thinking. "Also, I need to trust the person and you can talk now because I think I need to hear you say something."

Rodney's just spit so much information at him that John can't help feeling a little bit on the spot. _Kinky_ and _being hurt_ and _control freak_, and John's head is spinning.

"Okay," he says, and that's just a stall for time, because Jesus, _kinky_ is not something he's ever expected to hear out of Rodney. "Okay, uh... how?" he asks. It seems like the next logical question. "How does this work?"

Blinking a little, Rodney stares at John. _So typical of him to just be all practical about this and not ask a lot of intrusive questions._ Although Rodney prefers that--in fact, it's one of the things he likes about John--it still means he has to shuffle his mental notes around a little.

"If you're willing," he says, "I'll tell you what to do and how hard to do it and when to stop. In return...well, I'm not sure what you'd like in return. You can fuck me, or I can fuck you, or if there's something you haven't felt comfortable asking for, we can negotiate." He wonders then if John's been hiding anything or if he's been on the level since they started this.

"I hate this part, it's why I usually go to a professional." _Oh shit, I said that out loud._

_Don't laugh, don't laugh._ John coughs, covering his mouth, to try to keep himself from smirking at that last bit. _And for God's sake, don't try to imagine Rodney with a dominatrix until later._ "Okay," he says slowly. "Look--I don't want to say no, here, but--" He scratches at the back of his neck. "I've never done anything like this. Generally, if I'm trying to hurt someone, it's... well. It's got nothing to do with getting them off, you know?" He takes a deep breath. "You're sure I'm not going to go too far with this?"

"What part of 'I trust you' was too hard to understand?" Rodney asks, frowning. "If I said 'stop,' would you stop? Well, unless you're into rape fantasies, and we can play around with that some, but maybe sometime when I'm not about to crawl out of my fucking skin." Fighting the urge to just keep talking because he's not _stupid_, he knows that he's all too good at talking people out of things, Rodney takes a deep breath.

"John," he says, and he know he's got John's attention because he hardly ever uses his name. "It's very simple. There's a leather strap in that bag. I want you to beat me on the ass and thighs with it until I tell you to stop. Afterwards I'll blow you or fuck you or get you off in any way you like." He's about to get all frantic again, so he breathes. "Or, you'll say no, and I'll understand. I'll leave go back to my room and try to do this to myself."

"Okay, don't go," John says, reaching out again. "I can do this, I just don't want to fuck it up. If you'll tell me when I do something that doesn't work, it ought to go just fine." That's a confidence he doesn't quite feel, not bone-deep, anyway, but being 90% sure of things has served him pretty well in Atlantis so far, so there's no reason to think it won't work here. He's trying not to think of Rodney back in his room trying to hurt himself--something that seems a lot less like sex and a lot more risky.

"Oh, thank God," Rodney says, his shoulders sagging in relief. "Okay, then: while I'm a pretty selfish guy--which I know comes as a shock to you--I still think it's only fair that you get something out of this. So I would normally bend over something like your desk, but if you want me over your lap or something like that, we can do that." He sits down on the bed, leaning down to unlace his boots. "Only no humiliation, because that's very much not my thing."

John bites his tongue before he can ask what humiliation has to do with sex. "I, uh," he says instead, trying to come up with something that sounds a little more concrete and a little less like flailing, "the desk," he says eventually, "the desk is fine."

"It's okay, you know," Rodney says, stripping his socks off because the floors in Atlantis are slightly warmed, and anyway, he refuses to go in for that gay porno look. "I know you're not used to this and you probably think it's really weird, but...it's an endorphin thing. It's about getting through all the barriers and shutting down my brain." He's got his pants and boxers off now and stands as he pulls off his shirt.

"Thank you," he says, looking at John for a moment. But after a moment, he's been still for too long and he can feel the tremors coming back. Digging in his bag, he hands John the strap--Athosian leather, it's part of a belt he traded for. "Here. Don't hit above the crack of my ass or below the middle of my thighs. Don't go full strength at the beginning, try to ramp up to it."

"I think my aim's gonna be just fine," John says, but it doesn't come off as testy as it could. More than anything, he's running his fingers down the strap and swallowing hard, thinking about how it's going to feel to hurt Rodney--does he really want it to _hurt_?--with this. "You, uh..." He clears his throat. "Do you want to go bend over the desk? Now?"

"Yeah," Rodney says, moving over to John's desk. He shifts John's lap top out of the way and bends over, crossing his arms and resting chest on them. As he takes a deep breath, he remembers fucking John over this desk; until now, that had been the kinkiest thing they'd done.

"Well? Any time now."

John looks from Rodney's ass to the strap in his hand, and for half a second, he doesn't know if he can do it. This is _Rodney_, for God's sake, the smartest man in Atlantis--maybe the smartest man on this side of the galaxy--and what if he fucks it up?

_You're stalling, Shep,_ he tells himself, and the reminder's enough to get him going. His first whack at Rodney's ass isn't much of one--lands in the right place, but there's practically no force behind it at all, not even enough to make much noise.

"Oh, come on, now," Rodney says, coming up off his arms enough to look over his shoulder. "Look, I know you're new to this and all, but the last _girl_ who did this to me hit harder than that. I mean, really, look at my ass; I can take it." Although Rodney's not particularly vain about his looks, he does know that he's got a pretty nice ass. _Unlike Sheppard, who has a place where a butt should be._

"Okay, _fine_," John snaps, and no, he shouldn't be snapping at Rodney when he's trying to do something nice for him, but all the rules are flying out the window, and the last thing he wants is to have Rodney decide he can't do this after all. He gives it another shot, the strap landing harder this time, and the _crack_ of leather against skin short-circuits everything in his brain, leaving him hard and staring.

_Oh, yeah,_ Rodney thinks as he feels that first little spark of pain resonate in the back of his mind. _Why didn't I ask for this sooner?_

"Good," he says aloud. "Start from there and then hit harder but not all at once. You know, incrementally. You want a nice steady rhythm that's like...I don't know, doing something rhythmical. Oh, whatever, just hit me again."

"Yeah," John breathes, licking his lips and nodding. This time he's a lot less hesitant, wanting to hear that sound again, wanting to watch Rodney react to the pain. Rodney wants a rhythm, right, so he goes slow, another stroke and then another, all with that same weight behind them.

The rhythm is still slower than Rodney likes, but there was something about the breathy quality to John's voice that makes Rodney feel a little more hopeful about this. _Is it too much to ask for that, since I not only put myself in harm's way on a regular basis but I also risk my health and brain to fix this city every time it gets broken, I get something I want?_

And yes, this is what Rodney wanted. Each blow is pushing him closer to the line, closer to the point where he can finally stop thinking and just feel, where he can let his body take over.

"Good, you're doing good," he says, just a little breathlessly. "I could probably train you up to being really excellent at this."

John doesn't let that shake him. He wants to ask what the hell Rodney means--_train me how?_\--but he doesn't want to interrupt. And hell, Rodney's quieting down some--doing this would be worth it for that alone, watching Rodney getting quiet.

But it's not just that. It's that sound, the way Rodney's breathing now, the fact that his skin's going a little pink where the strap's hit him over and over, and Jesus H. Christ, this is turning him _on_. _How the hell did we get from mutual handjobs to this? No, fuck it, who the hell _cares_?_

"Oh fuck," Rodney moans. "Yeah...that's it. God, just...just a little harder and faster." It's getting harder to talk and he bends his head down, forehead resting on his arms. "Oh God...yeah...hurt me...."

Those words really sell this whole experience for John. He's not some crazed, violent pervert--he's hurting Rodney because Rodney's into it and _wants him to_. He stops thinking about what any of this might say about him and just goes for it, carefully speeding up and slamming that strap against Rodney's ass and thighs, over and over, right where Rodney told him to--never above the crack of his ass, never below the middle of his thighs. The whole damn thing is like a new way of connecting to Rodney, and by "connecting to", John's thinking "fucking", because that's what this all feels like. It's like he's discovered a whole new way of having sex, and if he doesn't get off soon, he might just explode.

Rodney can almost tell the moment that John really gets into it, and he relaxes against the desk. He's almost without words now, although he's started groaning with each blow. "Good," he manages to get out, not wanting John to get alarmed and stop. And yeah, this was what he wanted, the feeling of the strap landing on him and the way each blow forces him to narrow his focus down until there's nothing but the pain, bright and sharp and bracing, like cold wind off snow.

All those groans, Jesus Christ--if John wasn't sure Rodney was into this before, he's sure now. What he doesn't know is how long he's supposed to keep at it. Until Rodney tells him to quit? Until Rodney's ass and thighs are red enough they're just about glowing? _Should I be leaving bruises or... how do I stop?_ he wonders, and the thought that maybe he doesn't _want_ to stop just yet is what makes him go a little easier, slowing down and landing each blow just a little bit softer.

"Five," Rodney manages to say, a little surprised that he can get the words out. "Five more...hard ones." He arches up as much as he can and braces himself; John's shown that he can hit hard, and it's been so long that Rodney's ready to give John just about anything he wants.

And while John doesn't give Rodney all five blows at full strength, he's seen enough now to believe that when Rodney says hard, he means it. He's counting them off as Rodney yells, breathing hard, knowing he's going to have to make himself stop in a minute and--God, what's wrong with him?--enjoying them as much as he can, while he can.

Rodney yells his way through the last five blows, letting the pain roll over and through him until it's all he knows. His breathing is steadier now and his brain's quiet, the racing thoughts banished in a haze of endorphins.

After five, John drops his arm to his side, the strap hanging down as he stares at Rodney's ass and tries like hell not to let himself feel... Christ, he's not even sure. Possessive or hungry or needy, wanting to do this all over again, needing to get off _now_. He swallows hard. Fuck, what if Rodney doesn't even want him to be here now, doesn't want John to touch him after all that? John wouldn't exactly blame him. _What the fuck did we just do?_

"Nnngh...." Rodney knows he should say something, but the whole point of this exercise is to shut his brain down and this time around it seems to have worked extraordinarily well. He still wants to get off, and somewhere in the back of his mind he remembers that John will probably want to get off as well, and so he looks over his shoulder, hoping he won't have to talk John through a freak out.

He's too dazed to read John's expression, but there's no mistaking the fact that John's hard, his boxers tented. "Fuck me?" Rodney says hoarsely, spreading his legs.

"Jesus fucking Christ, yes," John says, scrambling for the drawer where he keeps the lube. He drops the strap on his bed, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste, and he drops his boxers somewhere between the bed and the desk. Lube should be easy--it's not like he hasn't slicked himself up a million times before--but his hands are shaking and he feels clumsy now, fumbling through everything. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "C'mon, Sheppard," he mutters, "just fucking--okay, I got it. Okay." The few passes he gave his cock are going to have to be enough, because if he touches himself much more than that he's going to come all over Rodney's thighs. Rodney's reddened thighs, marked up with color he put there. He bites down hard on his lip to keep from thinking about it; he's afraid he might come anyway, touching himself or no.

He's got his fingers slicked up before he thinks to ask Rodney how _he's_ doing. "You sure?" he asks, but he's slipping his fingertips into the cleft of Rodney's ass already, hesitating at his asshole.

Rodney doesn't even bother to answer. He shoves back against John's fingers, pretty sure that John will be able to guess what that means. It's encouraging--that, and hot as hell--to know that beating Rodney has gotten John so turned on. He's not sure why he didn't ask John for this sooner, how he missed any clues that John might get off on this kind of thing.

"Do it," he finally says, because he really doesn't want to wait a second longer than necessary.

Neither does John, and he doesn't; with a little bit of almost-cursory care getting Rodney slicked up, he's sliding his thumbs into Rodney's crack and holding him open just enough to get his cock in. _In. Now!_ is about as coherent as his thoughts get, and after a few short, sharp presses in, he's buried to the hilt, gasping and squeezing his eyes shut. Either it's all in his head, or Rodney's _never_ felt this tight, this hot, before. And that's saying something.

"Oh fuck," Rodney groans, feeling the burn as John pushes inside him. He moves back against John as hard as he can, wanting to feel the warmth of John's skin against his already burning ass. "Yeah," he grunts breathlessly. "C'mon...."

Like John needed the encouragement. He puts his hands on Rodney's hips and digs his fingers in hard, jerking Rodney back as he shoves forward. He doesn't even try talking, just grunts inarticulately, but there's no questioning how he feels right now--this is _good_. This is all really fucking _good_.

Bracing himself so his cock doesn't end up hitting the desk in front of him, Rodney finds it easy to let himself give in to John's rhythm. John usually isn't like this; while he'd fucked Rodney hard before, this is far more intense and Rodney has to admit that he's impressed. John's narrow hips slam against Rodney's ass and his not so narrow dick hits just the right spot; with a loud yell Rodney comes so hard his vision grays out a little.

"Oh--shit--" John grunts, taken a little by surprise by Rodney's shout and his orgasm. The way Rodney's ass is tightening around his dick is too much to take, and he shoves in harder, deeper, getting one arm around Rodney's chest and all but collapsing on top of him as he comes with a yell of his own.

Even though John's hot and sweaty and surprisingly heavy for someone so skinny, Rodney doesn't complain about the weight on his back. Normally he might, but after something like this--while he's still flying a little high on the endorphins, he welcomes the pressure of John's presence and the way it grounds him.

"Thank you," he says very quietly.

"Uh?" John lifts his head up for a second, then thinks better of it. His head feels a lot heavier than the nine-pound average right about now. "You're welcome," he says, finally, hoping it's the right response.

"You gonna let me up?" Rodney asks after another moment, because there's basking and grounding and then there's _cuddling_. "It's not so much that you're sweaty, but your hair is making me itch."

"Yeah--uh, yeah, sorry," John says, pulling away and stumbling the few steps to the bed before he sprawling across the foot of it, pushing up on his elbows so he can look at Rodney again. Rodney's ass looks... red. Really red. John's not sure whether that's hot or whether he should feel like a complete dick for causing that. "You okay there?"

"Hmmm," Rodney murmurs. While he's a little cold now that John's now longer on top of him, he feels better than he has in a long time, and sleep isn't just around the corner, it's here, right now. "Your desk is comfy," he mumbles, patting the desk a little.

Frowning, John hauls himself out of bed and heads back for the desk, getting his hands under Rodney's arms. "Okay, the desk is great, but it's hell on your back. C'mon." The bed's not that far away, if he can just get Rodney moving.

"Don't want to get dressed," Rodney says, his voice sounding distant in his own ears. "'M fine here...really."

"That's right, you're fine here," John says, giving Rodney a firm pull and keeping an arm around his shoulders as he pilots Rodney towards the bed. "Forget the desk. It'll be right there when you wanna go back to it." Jesus, talk about the wrong thing to say--now Rodney's going to think John's looking forward to doing this again, which is (_not exactly untrue, Shep_) not what he meant at all.

"Oh, good." Rodney lets John guide him to the bed. _He wants to do it again; thank God,_ he thinks, sliding down onto the bed and sighing happily when the sheets rub against his ass. "You liked it?" he tries to ask around a huge yawn.

"What?"

Rodney manages enough energy to tilt his head and look at John. "Don't be...obtuse; makes you sound like a idiot."

John would love to come back with some kind of smartass comment pointing out that--at least as far as Rodney's concerned--_everyone_ on Atlantis is an idiot. But he's been caught stalling, so there's no point in going around in any more circles.

"I liked it, yeah," he says quietly. "I mean, if you did."

"Because the way I was moaning and asking for more wasn't a clue," Rodney says, yawning again. "Sleep now," he adds, moving over to give John room. "Freak out later."

_Easy for you to say,_ John thinks, wrestling with the covers until he's got at least part of the sheet. The bed's really much too small to get comfortable in, but the fact that Rodney's still here... it's more a plus than a minus, he'll say that much.

_end_

**Author's Note:**

> This could be subtitled "in which Helens and Ruth play around with one of their favorite dynamics--the dominant masochist" but that would be too long. *grins* Also, we want to make it clear that while we actually think there's nothing wrong with beating someone who wants it, John's new to this. His worry that there's something weird or wrong about him getting off on beating Rodney is, in fact, a fairly common concern for a beginner sadist.


End file.
